


Like Real People Do

by lostmemoria



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Lydia can hear Allison, POV shifts, and eventually sex, phoenix!Jordan, slight mentions of the pack - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 21:29:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2826731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostmemoria/pseuds/lostmemoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because he’s life, while she’s death, and one cannot exist without the other even if they wanted to.</p><p>Or: Jordan dies. Lydia waits for him to come back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Real People Do

**Author's Note:**

> A belated birthday fic for the lovely [foreverandendlesslove](http://foreverandendlesslove.tumblr.com).
> 
> And I've listened to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ao86ErZEtZI) way too many times while writing this.
> 
> SPECIAL BIG THANK YOU to [Kara](http://welcometonewycrk.tumblr.com) for proofreading over this so early in the morning!

_I will not ask you where you came from_  
 _I will not ask and neither should you_  
 _Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips_  
 _We should just kiss like real people do_

 

The oven rings and Lydia pads into the kitchen wearing her favorite floral dress, black with a red rose print that falls just a little past her thighs. It’s a dress she only wears on special occasions, and tonight is definitely special.  
  
Opening the oven door, Lydia smiles to herself as the delicious smell of a parmesan risotto fills the room, and although she’s not a half bad cook—heck cooking is like chemistry to her and she’s _great_ at chemistry—she still decided to play it safe and borrow a recipe from Melissa, knowing that Scott’s mother would be more than happy to give it to her. Although that did mean having to go through a game of twenty questions with the woman.  
  
 _What’s the special occasion?_ _Because a girl cannot be making a delicious risotto just for herself. Who’s the lucky guy?  
  
_ And even though Lydia reassured Melissa that a girl can _most definitely_ make risotto just for herself, the strawberry blonde never mentioned her as being one of those girls.  
  
Because tonight is a dinner for two.  
  
It’s been exactly two months since Lydia’s turned eighteen and in those two months, she’s been experiencing something that she never thought she would experience before. _Heartache._ And it’s strange, because she’s Lydia fucking Martin and guys are the ones that are suppose to ache for her, suppose to be mesmerized by the way she sashays past them, not even throwing a meager glance in their direction, but they wish she did.  
  
It should most definitely _not_ be the other way around. But it is.  
  
Two months ago when she turned eighteen, everyone might have acknowledged that she’s now “officially” an adult, even though she’d argue she’s much more mature than most adults around, eighteen or not. But the only person Lydia actually wished would acknowledge this and finally ask her out, still had cold feet.  
  
That is, until exactly two weeks after her birthday.  
  
Because two weeks after her birthday, the new cute (but not too cute) blond deputy at the police station had become _overly_ friendly with her, and knowing thata certain green-eyed deputy was watching their interactions from the corner of his eye, whether he wanted to or not, Lydia reciprocated the flirtatious interactions with the blonde deputy—she doesn’t even remember his name, because that’s how irrelevant he was—for the sole sake of hoping that said green-eyed deputy would react.  
  
And react he did.  
  
Because three weeks into her eighteenth birthday and she was going out for dinner with the cutest deputy in town and the only guy who preoccupies her thoughts more than usual nowadays.  
  
Jordan Parrish.  
  
Lydia can’t exactly pinpoint what she likes about him the most, but that’s mostly because there isn’t really anything she _doesn’t_ like about him. He’s sweet, charming, a gentleman (who said chivalry was dead?), but more importantly, he respects her in a way that no one else ever has. He listens to her, clings to every word she says, and looks at her like she’s the most amazing person to ever walk into his existence. And honestly, at first, it overwhelmed her, because she’s not used to being treated like _that_ , treated like she’s more than just a pretty face to show off to the lacrosse team or whatsoever. And at first, she thought that she would just end up disappointing another person, because sooner or later he would realize that she’s not so amazing after all, but fast forward a month later and a few more dinner dates, and Jordan managed to prove her wrong.  
  
But Lydia still can’t help feel doubtful. Doubtful because although they’ve gone out a couple of times, and she’s completely aware of what her feelings are, she can’t seem to figure out what Jordan feels about her. Sure, there’s the obvious lingering stares and the way he acts nervous around her, but it’s been a good two months and he hasn’t even tried to kiss her yet, and if that doesn’t leave her unbelievably frustrated, she doesn’t know what does.  
  
She’s thought about the reasons—the reasons why he might be reluctant in expressing his feelings for her. There’s lots of reasons in fact, the age difference, the fact that he’s a cop and she’s still in high school, ect. But the one reason that Lydia keeps circling back to is the one that makes the most sense to her.  
  
A month ago, they found out that Jordan’s a Phoenix. Meaning, that probably eliminates the age difference since he’s technically maybe over a thousand years old (Deaton’s still trying to find an exact age) and it also sort of eliminates the excuse that he’s a cop and she’s still in high school, because she’s eighteen already for god’s sake and he’s not breaking any rules.  
  
So it makes her think that the reason he’s hesitating is because of this: The idea of Lydia screaming his death over and over again, since he’s technically immortal, might be too much for her to handle. Or that’s what she assumes he thinks.  Or the fact that Jordan will go the rest of his life never aging, living eternally, while death will be inevitable for her one day, and he’s thinking that she probably deserves someone better than that.  
  
But Lydia doesn’t want anyone else, she wants _him_. And not in the way that she wanted Aiden, not like a distraction, but like something more. She wants Jordan like the way Allison wanted Scott or the way Scott wanted— _wants_ Allison.  
  
For once, Lydia wants something that feels... _real_.  
  
And maybe that’s why she’s never had a heartache before, because she’s never wanted to be with someone so badly until now.  
  
She puts the risotto down on the counter to let it cool and sighs to herself, as she hears a familiar voice echo through her ears. _For god’s sake Lyds, stop being so harsh on yourself. You have another date with him. And at your house. Don’t let that opportunity go to waste. Just tell him how you feel, I promise you that you won’t regret it._  
  
At the sound of the voice, Lydia smiles to herself, because even in spirit, the huntress manages to make her feel better. She’s right, Lydia thinks, as she walks over to the dining table where she already has everything set up and pours herself a glass of wine, because she needs to loosen up a little if she wants to do this right. And at that thought, she almost laughs to herself, because when the hell was the last time she’s ever felt this tense about a boy? She takes a few sips of the wine before she feels her phone vibrate on the table. Checking it, she sees that it’s a text message from Jordan.  
  
 _Stuck on a job, might be a little late. Sorry.  
  
_ Her eyes narrow at the message and for a minute she almost types back a rebuttal but decides against it. Instead, she sighs and sits down, filling her glass of wine to the brim again. Glancing at the clock, she sees that it’s exactly nine and there’s still a good fifteen minutes for him to be on time, but now reading his message, she knows that he’s most definitely going to be late. And it should upset her, but she knows he doesn’t mean to do it on purpose. “That’s what I get for liking a deputy,” Lydia mumbles to herself and she swears she hears Ally chuckle somewhere in the background.  
  
At most, she expects him to be ten minutes late, but then the clock strikes half past nine, and he’s still not here. At a quarter to ten, Lydia clears the table and places the untouched risotto into the fridge, and usually if any other guy had ever stood her up this late, she’d be fuming, but in this case she’s not, because there’s still a tiny part of her that thinks he’ll be here. He has to be, she thinks. But when the clock strikes ten, and Jordan still isn’t here, _still_ hasn’t returned back her calls, she finds herself pacing around in the kitchen, her red heels clicking against the floor almost as impatiently as the way she fiddles with her hands nervously.  
  
 _He’ll be here, Lyds. Calm down, please._  
  
But for some reason, she can’t calm down. Even Ally’s reassuring voice can’t bring her comfort, because it isn’t just about him being late anymore, it’s about the ominous thoughts that start to invade her mind that are making her think the worst, that are making her think that something isn’t _right_. She tries calling him again, but to no success, because she’s only greeted by the continuous ringing of the dial tone again, which echoes through her ears unpleasantly, only making her feel more anxious than she already is.  
  
And that’s when she feels it.  
  
It doesn’t come rushing to her all of a sudden like it usually does. It creeps up her stomach like something unwanted, but at the same time it feels so familiar, almost too familiar, not just because it’s the feeling of death sprouting through her veins, clutching at her bones, a feeling that she never thought she would get so used to, but there’s something else to it this time. A strange warmness of life to the ice cold feeling of death erupting through her body, and in a way Lydia associates that warmness to Jordan, to the way he holds her after she’s out of danger, or the way he takes her hands gently and smooths soothing circles into her palm with his thumbs to calm her down.  
  
The way he tells her that everything’s going to be okay.  
  
They way he seems to be a bright light in the midst of all the darkness that surrounds her.  
  
Because he’s life, while she’s death, and one cannot exist without the other even if they wanted to.  
  
The scream that leaves the Banshee’s lungs is ear-piercing, deafening, and it resonates through her body painfully, because she doesn’t just feel any death, she feels Jordan’s death.  
  
And for a Banshee to feel the death of a Phoenix, it’s to feel his heart burst into flames, and then his whole body burn an agonizing death, a sensation that she feels under her fingertips, as if the flames are licking at her own skin.  
  
That’s how strong it is.  
  
It’s also during these times, when Lydia screams, that she feels Allison’s presence the most. Like right now, as the strawberry blonde screams into the room, she can hear Allison calling her name in the background. She can feel the huntress fighting through the barrier between life and death that her spirit is entrapped in, trying to wrap her arms around Lydia, and for a few moments, she feels Allison pulling, her fingers subtly brushing against her skin, but it’s not enough.  
  
Because nothing is enough to stop what she’s feeling right now.  
  
Even after she’s finished screaming, even after her knees have given out and she’s collapsed on to the cold kitchen floor, Lydia still feels the sickening coil in the pit of her stomach. She breathes heavily while trying to catch her breath and recollect her thoughts again, and when she does, the first thing she does is get up and reach for her car keys. Once grasped within her fingertips, she makes her way hurriedly to the door, but she doesn’t make it far because Allison calls her again.  
  
 _Wait, Lydia! Don’t go. You’re not in the right state to go anywhere like this. Please.  
  
_ Lydia can feel the tears stinging her eyes as she stops, the keys gripped tightly in her hand that they almost pierce through her skin. She hates feeling like this, hates feeling so weak, hates feeling how no matter how hard she tries, she can’t stop the deaths from happening. She couldn’t stop Erica’s death, or Boyd’s, or even Aidens.  
  
She couldn’t even stop her best friend from sacrificing her life for her.  
  
And she’s never felt so helpless before in her life.  
  
Lydia turns around and faces the empty hall, and it’s the worst feeling, to be able to hear her best friend, yet be haunted by the fact that she can never see her. But she feels the brunette’s presence, as if she’s standing right in front of her, and maybe she is. “I have to go,” Lydia says slowly, “I can’t lose another person, Ally. I can’t lose him.” It sounds so desperate, coming out of her mouth like that. Maybe she _is_ desperate at the moment, but she has every right to be.  
  
The silence fills the room and it feels unbearable to Lydia when Allison doesn’t answer right away, and Lydia can just imagine the huntress gnawing on her lower lip while trying to come to realization with the fact that she can’t keep protecting Lydia no matter how much she wants to.  
  
 _Okay,_ Allison finally says, _but please be safe._  
  
“I will Ally,” Lydia says, nodding, as she tries to imagine the huntress’ bright smile directed towards her.  
  
She leaves her house after that, the cold evening air making a shiver run through her as she makes her way to her car, pulling out of the driveway and driving down the street. She doesn’t exactly know where she’s going, but trusting her banshee instincts, Lydia lets them take her to her destination. Twenty minutes later, she gets about a few miles outside of Beacon Hills before stopping in front of a warehouse that’s surrounded by police. The warehouse looks like its collapsed into itself and when Lydia steps out of her car and immediately catches the scent of fire and ash, she knows.  
  
He died here.  
  
Lydia only takes a few absentminded steps towards the crowd before she feels a delicate hand on her shoulder, stopping her from going any further. When she looks up, she sees the concerned expression of Kira and just by the look on her face, Lydia knows that there’s nothing left of him.  
  
“He didn’t come back?” Lydia finds herself asking anyways, just as Stiles and Scott approach. She tries not to sound too worried, because they were warned about _this_ by Deaton, warned that even though Jordan is a Phoenix, resurrection wouldn’t always come immediately. It could take hours, days, weeks.  
  
And Lydia still remembers when Deaton pulled her aside that night after the rest of the pack plus Jordan had left the room and told her that sometimes, it could even take _years_. Lydia tries not to think about the idea of Jordan being gone from her life for more than a day, and she shivers visibly at the thought of it.  
  
She feels another hand on her shoulder and this time it’s Scott. “Just because he didn’t come back as fast as last time,” he says, pausing as if to find the right words, _careful_ words, “doesn’t mean he won’t come back, Lydia.”  
  
When Lydia looks up at Scott, he’s giving her a reassuring smile and she can see how tired he looks. “How did it happen?” She asks next.  
  
The three of them share a glance with one another, as if trying to find out who will give her the news. Stiles decides to do it. “There was a bomb,” he says, fiddling with his fingers, his eyes darting around everywhere else besides towards Lydia. “And Jor— _Parrish_ couldn’t deactivate it in time.”  
  
“Sorry, Lydia,” Kira whispers next, and even though Lydia nods and takes in their sympathy, part of her wishes they would all just go away.  
  
She wraps her arms protectively around herself as she shivers from the cold. “I want to go inside.”  
  
Her statement surprises the other three, because they probably weren’t expecting her to say that. Scott sighs, “Lydia—”  
  
“ _No_ ,” Stiles blurts out suddenly, causing all eyes to look over at him. “I mean, if she wants to go inside, then you guys should let her. I mean, she has every right to.”  
  
Lydia can’t help but give him a small smile, because ever since the pack became aware of her getting closer to Parrish, they were all nervous because they still couldn’t trust him, except for Stiles. Of course, he was hesitant at first as well, but after seeing them together, he seemed to have understood how much he meant to his best friend, and Lydia will always appreciate that.  
  
Scott sighs again, but this time he gives in. “Okay. But I’m coming with you.” Because _of course_ Scott wouldn’t let her go inside a run-down, about-to-collapse building all by herself.  
  
Lydia nods and follows behind the wary alpha as they go inside, where the scent of fire and ash is at its strongest. Scott ends up falling behind her as Lydia makes her way through the abandoned building, walking sort of in a trance, as if she already knows where to go. She enters a room where the smell of charred remains sends a shiver  
running down her spine and where the feeling of death weighs heaviest on her shoulders, and she knows that he died in here. Her eyes catch whatever’s left of the bomb, blown up scraps of metal and colored wires scattered across the ground along with what she expects to be ash.  
  
And there’s lots of it.  
  
Lydia doesn’t realize she’s shaking until she finds herself crouching down to the earth, her trembling fingers reaching out for something hidden in the ground. And when Lydia lifts it up from the earth and the ash, she sees the way it glows under the light of the moon that spills in through the broken rafters.  
  
It’s Jordan’s dog tags.  
  
She remembers how he told her that he used to wear them whenever he would deactivate bombs during his time as a HDT, because in a way he felt like it protected him, because every time he managed to come out unscarred. It brings an odd smile to Lydia’s lips at the fact that he wore them tonight, because he’s _immortal_ , and he doesn’t need anything protecting him.  
  
Brushing off the debris, Lydia slips the still strangely warm chain over her head, letting the tags settle in between her breasts.  
  
When she walks out of the warehouse with Scott, the pack huddles around her again, saying soothing words, but Lydia doesn’t hear any of it. All she hears is her pulse pounding in her ears and all she focuses on is how heavy the dog tags feel against her heart.

 

**

 

Three days later and Jordan still isn’t back.  
  
And Lydia, she doesn’t know what to feel anymore.  
  
What to think.  
  
In her sleep, her mind brings her back to the horrible memories where she’s on the lacrosse field again during winter formal of her sophomore year, looking around helplessly until Peter gets to her, and just before she feels his fangs pierce through her skin, her mind plays tricks on her, and instead of lying in the wet grass of the field, she finds herself with Jordan’s warm arms wrapped protectively around her. She hears his voice whisper sweet nothings into her ear as she tries to slow the throbbing of her heart. She tries to concentrate on the way his fingers trace figure eights up and down her back instead; the way his lips brush against the top of her head and then slowly trail kisses down her cheek, and then along her jawline until he reaches her lips, and just when Lydia thinks she’s going to kiss him, she wakes up in the darkness of the night, completely alone.  
  
And then when she cries, tiny, ugly sobs erupting from her throat, she feels the bed shift and then Allison’s beside her, or Lydia thinks she’s beside her, whispering to her that everything will be okay until she manages to drift back to sleep.  
  
At school, although the pack tries to act normal around her, she can feel the way they hesitate when they talk to her, and she doesn’t blame them either. And so to avoid them, she spends most of her time alone at school, and she’s glad she doesn’t have many classes with them since she’s taking advanced level courses. However, that doesn’t stop her from overhearing them sometimes, eavesdropping on their conversations because she _knows_ they’re talking about her, and if not her, they’re talking about him.  
  
On the fourth day, Lydia hears Scott and Stiles speaking just when she’s about to round the hallway corner—  
  
“My dad told the other deputies that Parrish is out of town on a family emergency,” Stiles says, closing his locker shut. “But I don’t think that excuse is going to work for long if Parrish doesn’t come back, Scott.”  
  
 _If Parrish doesn’t come back._ The words echo through Lydia’s ears as she hears her heart lurch while she presses herself further against the wall, a part of her just wishing she could disappear once and for all.  
  
“I know,” Scott says next, sounding like he’s lost hope, “Deaton said that we should wait a week or two before…” He pauses as if he can’t say the next words. And part of Lydia also wishes he doesn’t.  
  
“ _Before_ we start making arrangements for a funeral procession.”  
  
There’s a heavy silence in the air after Scott says that and before Stiles can reply back, the bell rings and Lydia hurries off, the clicking of her heels buried under the loud ringing of the tardy bell, and the tears streaming down her face? She wipes them away quickly before entering her next class.  
  
On the third day, Lydia tells her mother she feels sick and skips school, using the entire day to lock herself up in her room and drift in and out of sleep.  
  
Because it’s only in her sleep when she actually gets to meet— _to see_ her best friend.  
  
After Lydia turned eighteen, she noticed that her powers were getting stronger, and with Deaton’s help, she managed to grasp her powers a little better, although not completely. Deaton told her that her mind is a powerful thing, able to connect with people even beyond the afterlife, but even then, they weren’t entirely the same person, they were still figments of the person’s imagination, their state of mind. It was a strong ability, Deaton had warned her, one that could easily make a banshee addicted to using in order to connect with a lost loved one.  
  
Lydia tried to heed to his warning, but she ultimately failed, because now, she visits her best friend at least every night, because it’s the only way she can go to sleep without the nightmares of her past plaguing her.  
  
She walks through the forest now, a forest that she is used to walking through in her dream state, because it’s where she frequently meets Allison.  
  
Lydia finds the brunette sitting on tree stump in the middle of the forest as she usually finds her and without a single word, the strawberry blonde takes a seat next to her. Most of the time, it’s easy to have conversation flowing between them, because they talked about anything and everything without hesitation. But now, they sat in silence, letting a light breeze blow through their hair.  
  
Allison speaks first. “Did he…?”  
  
“No,” Lydia says, biting her lower lip.  
  
“What did the others say?” Allison asks, and Lydia’s noticed that she doesn’t say Scott’s name too much anymore, she just says _the others_ when really she just means Scott.  
  
Lydia wonders if that’s what she’ll start to do as well if Jordan doesn’t come back. “They said to wait a week or two.”  
  
“Until…?”  
  
“To start planning the funeral procession,” Lydia says, managing not to choke on her words. She doesn’t look at Allison, but she can tell that she’s looking at her, and she can imagine the sympathetic look on her face as the huntress touches her shoulder, and it feels so real.  
  
“Lydia, he’ll come back,” Allison tells her reassuringly, “He came back the first time. He’ll come back again.”  
  
Lydia nods, and she doesn’t know why she asks, but it comes out of her anyways. “Is this how it feels when you lost Scott? When Scott lost you?”  
  
Allison doesn’t say anything for the longest time and for a minute, Lydia thinks she said something wrong by saying Scott’s name, but then when she turns beside her to look at her best friend, Lydia sees that she’s gone. And for a moment, she glances around her surroundings, until everything starts to blur and she wakes up in her bed with a jolt.  
  
And it’s only then that she realizes that no matter how many times she visits Allison in her dreams, it’s never going to be the same.

 

**

 

He wakes up on the fourth night, choking on ash and his own saliva, while trying to figure out how to make his lungs breathe again, how to make every part of his body function once more after having one foot in the grave. He puts a hand on his heart, feels it beating irregularly until it gets to a smooth rhythm again, and as soon as that happens, he’s able to process thoughts in his head, and the first thing that Jordan thinks is this.  
  
 _Holy shit, I missed my date with Lydia.  
  
_ And if he hadn’t just died, he would have called her up, let her yell at him as much as she wants to, because at least that still means he can hear her voice. But _he did just die_ , so he doesn’t have any way to call up Lydia right away, doesn’t have any way to apologize to her profusely. He glances down at himself, where he’s sitting on the cold hard ground of the warehouse that he blew up in, and realizes that he doesn’t have any clothes on either.  
  
He’s definitely not going to go meet Lydia without wearing any clothes.  
  
And that’s what takes Jordan to Stiles’ house.  
  
It’s surprising how well he’s able to run naked through the town without getting caught, or worse, _arrested_ , but he’s done it before so he’s kind of become used to it. However, finding a man that you thought was dead naked at your front doorstep isn’t something Jordan thinks Stiles will ever get used to, especially the way the boy jumps at the sight of him, mumbling, _Jesus Christ, everyone always comes back to life in this town._  
  
“I need to borrow clothes,” is Jordan’s simple request, the cold air biting at his ash coated skin, but he doesn’t feel it because his whole body is just numb, deprived of any sensation.  
  
“Clothes? What you need is a _shower_ , dude,” Stiles says, and after some pointless bickering, he manages to get Jordan into his bathroom after proposing him the deal that he can only borrow his clothes if the deputy took a shower.  
  
 _Because I don’t want your dead ashes all over my sweats._  
  
And Jordan, realizing that washing the death off of him might be a good idea before he goes to meet Lydia, lets the cold water run over his body, rinsing off the ash and the charred remains of his old self, leaving the water around his feet murky as it circles down the drain. He doesn’t stay long in the shower, just enough so that he doesn’t look entirely like he dug himself out of a grave, and after quickly changing himself into a pair of Stiles’ sweats and an old t-shirt, Jordan’s out the door again, making his way to Lydia’s house.  
  
As soon as he gets to her house though, Jordan stops in his tracks on the front lawn, the uncut grass tickling at his bare feet because Stiles’ shoes didn’t fit him. He stops because part of him realizes that he shouldn’t be here, that he has no right to be _here_ , with her, because he can never give her anything real. After everything she’s been through, Lydia deserved more than him. She deserves someone who will actually _stay_ , and even though he’s  practically immortal, Jordan can die one day and be gone from her life for days, weeks, even years maybe, and he doesn’t want her to go through that. He doesn’t want her to wait for him.  
  
Because she deserves better.  
  
Jordan looks up at the house and sees a few lights on, and he knows her mother isn’t home because the car isn’t in the driveway. He almost debates on just leaving and going back to the police station, letting the Sheriff know he’s still alive, and eventually the news will get to the pack, and hopefully Lydia. That way, he doesn’t have to see her, because he doesn’t think that he’ll be able to see her like this. But just as Jordan’s about to turn and walk away, he sees a light turn on in the far right window. Lydia’s room.  
  
His breath hitches when the curtains are drawn, and he sees her come into view. Her fiery red hair as bright as ever and her face glows in the moonlight, and despite the fact that she looks absolutely distressed, Jordan thinks she’s look as beautiful as ever. He watches as her hands press against her wary face, fingers wiping at her eyes slightly, and he knows she’s been crying, crying because of him.  
  
Jordan looks away from her, because it hurts him to know that he’s the reason for her tears, because he’s always told himself that all he wants is to make sure she’s happy, because she’s gone through so much, lost so many people. And now he doesn’t even know if he can give her that, give her the happiness she deserves.  
  
“J-Jordan?”  
  
Her voice sounds so crisp and clear in his ears as he looks up to meet her eyes. She has the window open, her head poking out and her loose hair spilling down her side, letting the evening breeze blow through it, and for a minute, all Jordan can do is stare at her. And he wishes he can stare forever. But as soon as he sees her, she disappears from the window, leaving it open carelessly, because at this moment there’s nothing else that seems to matter to her besides him, and it makes his heart beat loudly in his chest, making it the most real thing he’s felt all night.  
  
Before he knows it, the front door opens and she’s standing there, looking stunning in just a white dress that flutters around her thighs. Lydia stares at him with wide eyes, as if she’s trying to convince herself that he’s actually back, that he’s _real_ , and all Jordan wants to do is run to her and wrap her in his arms, hold her close and never let go, but his legs are frozen in place, unallowing him to do so. But it doesn’t matter, because Lydia’s running to him now, barefoot across the pavement and grass until her arms are wrapped around him, the impact making Jordan stumble back slightly, but he catches her in his arms, pulling her close to him. She feels warm against his body and it sends a sensation rushing through him that he’s missed for so long, the first sensation that he’s felt since he died, and he wants to say something, tell her that he’s sorry, but his mouth goes slack, so he just stands there instead, cradling her while wanting the moment to last forever.  
  
They stand like that for what does seem like forever until Lydia finally pulls away, looking up at him, and Jordan feels relief when he sees she’s not crying.  
  
“Sorry,”Lydia whispers, stepping back a little so that there’s space between them and Jordan wants to ask why she’s apologizing when he should be the one saying sorry, but he’s at a loss of words. He then feels her hand grasp his wrist gently as she looks at him with a soft smile, “Come inside.”  
  
Jordan nods, following Lydia into her house and when he steps inside, he immediately flinches because his eyes aren’t used to the bright light yet. Lydia sees this and quickly goes to dim them. “Sorry,” she says again, coming back to his side and this time Jordan finally finds the words to say.  
  
“Please stop saying sorry,” he tells her, his voice tiny.  
  
He expects her to apologize again but she doesn’t. Instead she says, “Come, I’ll make you something to drink.”  
  
Jordan follows her into the kitchen next and even though Lydia gestures him to take a seat, he doesn’t. He feels too impatient, too anxious to sit, so instead he stands by the counter and watches as Lydia puts a tea kettle on the stove. He finds a sort of calmness in observing her while she moves around the kitchen, and that’s when Jordan realizes that when he isn’t nervous around the strawberry blonde because of his feelings for her, he finds a sort of peace in just being around her. He remembers back to when he was burned alive the first time—it still sends a shiver down his spine each time he thinks about it—and all the trauma he went through afterwards, all the nightmares that disturbed his sleep each night. At first, he didn’t tell anyone about them, but then one night, when his fears and his ghosts were the most unbearable, he called the first person that came to his mind.  
  
Lydia.  
  
And he broke down.  
  
It was the first time in a long time he had felt so vulnerable, and it was also the first time in a long time he allowed anyone to see it, because as soon as Lydia had realized what was happening, she had driven to his apartment, despite how many times he told her he was okay, even though he wasn’t. She had stayed with him that night, let him curl up around her as she held him, stroking his hair until he fell asleep in her arms, and although it was a surprisingly intimate gesture for both of them, Jordan appreciated her for being there for him that night.  
  
And ever since then, he’s always felt so calm around her.  
  
“Here, drink this.” Lydia’s voice strays him out of his thoughts as she appears, setting a cup of tea in front of him. “It’s green tea with some herbs Deaton gave me and a little bit of honey. He said to give it to you when...you came back. It’s suppose to make you feel better.” She presses her lips into a thin line, fiddling her fingers together, and he can tell that she’s just as nervous as him.  
  
“Thanks,” Jordan says, managing to give her a small smile as he takes a few sips of the tea, and almost immediately he can feel it replenishing him. When he turns to look back at her, he sees that her gaze is set on the tiled floor beneath them, and that’s when he knows he has to say something. “Lydia…” She looks up at him, blinking. “I’m really sorry, I don’t know what happened, I should have been more careful—”  
  
“Stop,” she says lightly, placing a finger to his lips so that he’s stopped talking and can only look at her now with slightly wide eyes. She gives him a small, genuine smile in return, and it’s only then that Jordan notices how long it’s really been since he’s last seen it. She removes her finger from his lips and then continues, “You don’t have to apologize. You don’t have to talk about it, because I know you don’t like to talk about it. I won’t ask you anything that you don’t want to tell me. You can tell me when you’re ready.” And then taking a deep breath, because he realizes she’s shaking now, “I’m just glad you’re okay.” Lydia looks up with him with slightly teary eyes, “You’re...okay right?”  
  
Seeing her like this, all Jordan wants to do is hold her again, but he refrains himself from doing so, reminding himself that he doesn’t deserve her. That he doesn’t deserve the way she frets over him, worries about him, cries over him. He doesn’t deserve this beautiful and amazingly brilliant girl who’s gone through more than he can ever imagine. He just doesn’t. “I’m okay, Lydia,” he reassures her with a comforting smile, and then figuring he should just tell her the truth, “my body just feels a bit numb, I guess. It’s almost like I can’t feel anything, like nothing’s _real_. Like...I’m not real.” When the words leave his mouth, it’s only then that he realizes how true it feels.  
  
He’s not real.  
  
He’s dead. He’s supposed to be _dead_. He’s not suppose to be here.  
  
It’s not real.  
  
Jordan lets out a shaky laugh, “...But I guess that’s the side effects when you come back from the dead.” He says it in a joking matter, hoping it lightens the atmosphere a little, but it hardly does.  
  
“Hey.” Lydia takes his wrist again, but this time she slides her hand down slowly and then slips it within his own hand, letting her fingers intertwine with his, and no matter how much he tries to deny it, it feels really nice, holding her hand like that. Lydia strokes her thumb across his palm, the same way he does to her after she would scream a death and needed to be grounded again. Then she asks him a question, and it takes him off guard a little.  
  
“Does this feel real?”  
  
Jordan blinks at her, surprised, but he nods.  
  
He thinks she’s going to let go of his hand now, but she doesn’t. Instead, she steps forward, slotting her body against his, and Jordan feels his heart beat pick up again. With one hand still holding his, Lydia slides the other around his neck, her fingertips scratching into the hair at the nape of his neck, and it makes him shudder. She asks the same question again. “Does that feel real?”  
  
It’s only when Jordan meets her gaze again does he realize how close their faces are, how close their _lips_ are. “Y-Yeah…But Lydia—”  
  
“Shh.” He feels her warm breath against his lips as she takes another step towards him, her forehead pressing against his. She’s so close to him now, and he to her, and Jordan can see how her eyes are actually a hazel color, a mix of blue and green and brown, and all he wants to do is get lost in them. “Now repeat after me,” Lydia continues softly, “You’re _real._ Your heart is beating and you’re breathing and you’re alive and real.”  
  
He takes a deep breath, repeats after her. “I’m...real.”  
  
She smiles. “Say it again.”  
  
Jordan does, he says it over and over until it’s imprinted in his mind as the truth, while still holding Lydia’s hand. When he looks up to meet her gaze again, he realizes that she must have screamed for him, must have felt his death rushing through her body painfully, must have thought that she lost another person again. Yet, here she stands in front of him, strong as ever, trying to _comfort_ him. Jordan squeezes her hand, “You’re real too.”  
  
It’s her turn to let out a shaky laugh now, but Jordan sees the shocked look that crosses her face as well, like it’s the first time someone’s told her that and she didn’t realize how much she needed to hear it until now. “Yeah...Yeah, I guess I am.”  
  
Before Jordan can say anything else in reply, Lydia leans in, and before he can register it, she’s kissing him. Her lips are soft and warm against his as he takes in the sweet taste of them, and there are times that Jordan’s wondered how it would feel like to finally kiss Lydia Martin, to cup her face in his hands or wrap his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him, as close as he can get her. But now it’s not just a fantasy of his anymore.  
  
It’s real.  
  
And Jordan, changing his mind from before, decides that _this_ moment, where he’s kissing the only girl in the world he wants to be with, is actually the most real thing he’s felt the entire night.

 

 

**

  
When she takes his hand for the third time that night and leads him upstairs to her room, Jordan lets her, because he realizes that she wants him just as much as he wants her. If not, more. He follows her blindly through the darkness, his eyes glancing over the outline of her body, the way the white dress she’s wearing makes her look like an angel, and maybe she is.  
  
They enter her room, and almost immediately, he’s kissing her again, his bottom lip dragging across hers while Lydia’s sighs softly, the noises she makes sounding like music to his ears. It’s only then that Jordan comprehends that she _is_ an angel, because she completes him, makes him feel whole again, makes him feel like everything is going to be _okay_ , or at least that’s what his mother had told him about angels when she used to drag Jordan to church as a kid, and now here he is, standing in front of one.  
  
Jordan doesn’t necessarily believe in the existence of a higher power, but when Lydia moans into the kiss, her fingers dragging through his hair, he starts to think that it’s possible. When their mouths finally part, Lydia trails her hands down his torso until they stop at the hem of his shirt, as she glances up at him for permission. He merely nods, kisses the spot above her brow, and lets her slide the shirt up and off of him before tossing it to the ground. She then reaches behind her to unzip her own dress, but Jordan’s quick to grab her hands, stopping her. Lydia looks at him curiously.  
  
“Can...I do it?” His voice is soft in the blanket of darkness that enfolds them together, and Lydia just smiles, turning around so that her back is facing him.  
  
He smooths her hair away softly before he drags the zipper down, pressing a line of kisses down the newly exposed skin of her back until her dress falls to the ground and pools around her feet. She turns around after that, preventing him from going any further, and he’s okay with it, because now Lydia’s sliding her panties down, letting them drop to the floor, before reaching behind her back and unhooking her bra, letting it fall as well. Jordan’s eyes don’t leave hers throughout the duration of the whole thing.  
  
But as soon as she tosses the disposed articles of her clothing aside and stands in front of him, naked and glowing from the moonlight that spills in through the open window, it’s only then that he lets his eyes roam over her, taking her all in. Her skin is pale, smooth, unblemished, except for the scar from Peter’s bite that’s still prominent on her right side, and Jordan can tell that she’s still self-conscious about it, from the way her hand slides across it at that moment.  
  
He also notices another thing.  
  
She’s wearing his dog tags.    
  
Lydia notices his gaze linger on the chain, but she doesn’t say anything as Jordan steps towards her, closing the distance between them as his thumb brushes across the cool metal of the tags for a moment. And that’s when he realizes that no matter how many times he dies, no matter how many times the flames take away his life, he’ll always come back to Lydia.  
  
Because he’s drawn to her.  
  
Because he’s hopelessly in love with her, and he’ll come back from the dead each time just to be with her.  
  
His hand strays away from her neck to cup her cheek as he leans in and brushes his lips across the top of her head, before slowly leaving a line of kisses down her cheek and jawline until he reaches her lips. He pauses, allows himself to look at her and  watch how her eyelids flutter blissfully under the blazing wake of his touch, before finally meeting his gaze. “I can’t lose you too,” she whispers, her voice coming out choked as the words leave her lips.  
  
Jordan manages to smile at her warmly. “You won’t lose me. I’ll always come back to you,” he tells her reassuringly, because it’s the truth. And with that said, he leans in again and finally lets his lips capture her own.  
  
When they kiss this time around, it’s different. It’s much more frantic and needy, the way their lips meet in a passionate frenzy. It makes Jordan forget about everything else around him, makes him forget about his fears and his ghosts and the flames licking at his body once and for all, because the only thing that matters at this moment to him  is Lydia. He focuses on the way she kisses him, how she bites on his lower lip and licks into his mouth. His skin buzzes from the way she wraps her arms around his bare shoulders and presses her body against his, her leg slithering its way up his leg to wrap around his waist, where she grinds her hips down on him.  
  
Jordan can’t contain the moan that leaves his lips from her action, and god, he wants this feeling all the time.  
  
He slides his hands down her back, and then without breaking the kiss, he picks her up and carries her to the bed, where he lets their bodies tangle together as they fall back on to the sheets. For a minute, he hovers over her, but then Lydia sits up abruptly then, and before Jordan can register it, she’s pushing him down gently and crawling over him so that she’s straddling the tenting in his pants, while her fingernails raked down his bare chest, making him shudder. When her fingers reach the waistband of the sweats he’s wearing, she tugs them down, sliding them off and tossing them aside with the rest of their clothes so that he’s just as naked as her now. His breath hitches when he feels her hand wrap around his length and stroke upwards, slowly, making his hips buck up to her sensitive touch, because his body is still new, still raw. “Can you feel me?” She asks, her hand straying away, but only to be replaced by her wrapping her lips mouth around him.  
  
He definitely feels that, feels the way she swallows him down as far as she can, and he only has to let out another groan to answer her question. “Oh my god, Lydia,” he whispers, and then when he feels her bob her head a few times, her tongue swirling around him, making his head spin, he feels himself getting close. “Lydia—”  
  
She pulls away though, crawling back over him and kissing him again, and Jordan can taste himself on her tongue along with Lydia’s own distinct sweet taste as she deepens the kiss. He wraps an arm around her, and this time rolls the both of them over so that she’s pinned underneath him. His mouth immediately goes to her neck, sucking on her pulse point until it leaves a mark, while Lydia throws her head back, a long drawn out moan escaping her lips. His mouth travels further down then, pressing kisses down the valley of her breasts until he stops right above the scar on her side. He feels her still underneath him, because she has every right to; the scar serves as a reminder to her every day of the terror she’s been through, and in the way that she heals him, he wants to heal her too.  
  
Because they’re both broken.  
  
He brushes his lips softly against the scarred skin there, and she slowly relaxes underneath him. Jordan takes his time with kissing and touching every inch of her body next, because he wants to worship her, wants to feel every part of her skin buzzing with warmth, wants to make her _feel_ good.  
  
And now that he thinks about it, it’s all he really wants. For her to feel good.  
  
Jordan hears Lydia keen a little when his mouth finally lowers to where she wants it the most, his hands spreading her thighs apart before pressing his face close to her sensitive core. He licks up her folds, swirling upwards against her clit, and Jordan does this over and over again while thrusting his tongue inside her, until her hips buck up against his mouth, until his name leaves her lips repeatedly in a throaty groan, and even after her orgasm hits her the first time, making her cries and moans echo through the dark room like a blessing, he continues to pleasure her, continues to taste her sweetness against his lips, because god, she tastes amazing.  
  
“Jordan,” Lydia finally whimpers after a while, her fingers carding through his hair a little harshly, “I want all of you, _please._ ”  
  
It’s only when she says it does he leave one last kiss on her inner thigh before finally pulling away, because he wants all of her as well. He wants to make love to her and never want it to end, never want to miss the feeling of being so close to her. She lies flat on her back while Jordan gently grabs hold of her behind her knees, pulling her closer to him, making her gasp as he lowers himself over her, letting his nose brush against the crook of her neck as he whispers into her ear, “I want you too.”  
  
When he finally enters her, Lydia’s nails dig into his back as he holds her close to him, her walls clenching and unclenching around him before he thrusts up inside her, making groans release from the both of them. As he starts to set a steady rhythm, he glances down at her, the sight of her leaving him breathless.  
  
But then again, Lydia always leaves him breathless.  
  
Her bright red hair is sprawled across the bed, her head lolling back and her eyes fluttering close as she gasps each time his thrusts inside her deepen. Jordan brings a hand up to her face, his thumb stroking her cheek and making her eyes open, so that she’s looking at him with desire blown eyes, and as their gazes lock, Jordan sees all the ways that she’s broken, vulnerable, but most importantly, beyond all of that, she’s strong. He watches as her lips curve up in a smile at him while her hand slides down from his neck and cups his face. “Keep looking at me,” she whispers.  
  
And Jordan does, keeps his eyes settled on her, as she does with him, but as his thrusts start to become more frantic, more quick, because he’s close and so is she, Jordan lets his forehead rest against hers for a moment, before their lips finally meet once more. They kiss tenderly, slowly, and ultimately igniting electricity, _literally._  
  
The lights suddenly flicker over them, flashing the room every one to two second intervals. Jordan doesn’t realize it until his lips leave Lydia’s to settle on the crook of her neck again, his thrusts quickening inside her, and along with the flashing lights, his gaze also catches the condition of the sheets underneath him.  
  
Scorched, burnt, and charred in certain areas, especially areas where his hands had fisted into the cool fabric.  
  
He feels his body temperature rising at an unbelievably quick rate as well, his skin literally blazing, and at first he thinks it’s because he’s close to climaxing, but then he realizes too quickly that it’s not because of that.  
  
It’s because he’s not human.  
  
The flickering lights, the burnt sheets, his body feeling like it’s being set on fire all over again.  
  
He’s a monster and it scares him.  
  
Jordan’s sporadic thrusts start to come to a slow, but Lydia notices this immediately because her hand cups his face again so that he’s looking at her. “Keep going,” she says, breathlessly. And then, as if already realizing what’s going on, “Don’t stop, keep looking at me. Forget everything else. Just focus on me, focus on _us._ ”  
  
Her words seem to bring Jordan a reassurance, because he does exactly that. He lets his surroundings blur away until all he sees is Lydia, looking like a goddess spread out underneath him, while his thrusts quicken once more, until all he can feel is her wrapped around his body, until all he can hear is the slapping of flesh against flesh and Lydia crying out against his ear when she finally comes undone, her orgasm surging through her. Her walls clench around his cock, causing his own release as he bucks up inside her one final time, his cock throbbing in her, before finally spilling his seed in the condom as her name leaves Jordan’s lips in a strangled groan.  
  
Their movements begin to slow as they try to catch their breath again, Jordan pressing kisses into Lydia’s hot slick skin until she’s curled up next to him and he’s cradling her in his arms. It’s only when they come down from their high does Jordan finally notice the real damage he’s done. The bulb in the lamp on Lydia’s bed side table is broken, glass scattered across the wood, and the air smells like a mixture of sex and fire, the latter probably occurring because of the charring of the sheets underneath them. Which, of course, were his fault. And when Jordan finally finds his voice again, all he can say is, “I’m sorry that I died. And I’m sorry for ruining your sheets.”  
  
He doesn’t realize how ridiculous it sounds until he hears Lydia laugh next to him, which ends up bringing a sheepish smile to his face. She looks up at him, her eyes sparkling even in the low moonlight, “I think you’re the only person to ever apologize for dying. And ruining my sheets.”  
  
He almost apologizes again, but stops himself before he does. “I...just didn’t want to hurt you,” he finally says, even though the sentence is out of context, but it’s the reason why he’s been reluctant about telling her how he really feels about her, and he knows that somewhere deep inside, she already knows that as well. “And you deserve better.”  
  
“You can never hurt me,” Lydia says, sitting up on her elbows so she can stare down at him, and Jordan sees the sincerity in her eyes when she says it. “And I don’t care, because I don’t want anyone else, I want _you_ and _only_ you.” And then as if to prove her point, she kisses him again, slow and soft, and Jordan lets himself get lost in the sensation of her lips before she pulls away.  
  
“Thank you,” he finds himself saying when their lips part.  
  
Lydia gives him a wide eyed look and snorts, “For what?”  
  
“For always being there for me,” Jordan says softly. “For always seeing me as just me. Never as anything else, never as a supernatural or a monster—”  
  
“Shh.” Lydia puts a finger against his lips for the second time in the night as she lies down next to him again. “Before anything else, you’re human. I’m human. Nothing more. Nothing less.”  
  
Her words make Jordan smile, as his fingers caress through her hair while he starts to feel her breathing start to slow as she curls up closer to him, drowsily, her eyes fluttering close.  
  
And Jordan continues to stroke her hair softly until Lydia ends up falling asleep soundlessly in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Any type of feedback is appreciated! I love all my readers. <3 Thank you for keeping me going! And please stay safe and have fun this holiday season! :)
> 
>  
> 
> [come talk to me on tumblr](http://lostmemoria.tumblr.com)


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